To not vote, To not care, Is a privilege afforded to those fortunate enough to always be safe, To be warm, With a full stomach, Good health, And a network of comfortable companions. Use yours, For those who died for it, And for those who are dying for things to change. Imy Brighty-Potts
This piece was written at the start of the academic year, and as stress and graduation fears loom, I thought I would share it with you all. Earth Wind and Fire Green Day Frank Sinatra Carole King A song about the month Where everything Begins Again. From 4 to 18 The month brings Orange leaves… Continue reading september
Take one day at a time they say It’s a journey and not a race But when every day you feel like you’re losing What other choice do you face? Please just keep on going, Keep persisting and pushing on through, I promise you things can get better, There’s a life that’s good, honest and… Continue reading recovery: untitled
Not a song by a ginger haired Suffolk boy today But a cup Grey, red, from Disneyland The least enthusiastic dwarf embossed on the front Facing the other way. Not that you could notice. Your eyes are fixed onto your keyboard Your diary to your right Spilling demands Requests “Would you be able tos”. Where… Continue reading Cold Coffee
Atop the table, Long wrists dotted with freckles and symbols of living, Lie flat, Spindly fingers intertwined, My grandmother would say ‘like a piano players’. As soft skin of a palm lies delicately on top of a set of knuckles, The round fingernail of a forefinger picks at the rough hips of a thumb. Raw,… Continue reading round nails, soft hands
